She lifted her hand and stared at the mark there. “I give myself freely to you, my Harley. I ask nothing of you in return. Take me, treasure me or walk away, but know I will always be yours.”
She curled her fingers and peeked at him from under her lashes. “What did you do to me?”
He closed his eyes. “You know the answer. When you realize it, I’ll be here waiting for you.”
She backed away without promising anything. No tug or invisible hand stopped her. She climbed the stairs and ran, but she feared it wouldn’t do any good. She’d been marked, in more ways than one, and the stamp he’d left on her heart might be the one to destroy her, once and for all.
Chapter Six
Calan waited for the sounds of Harley’s footsteps to fade before sagging in his bonds. He wanted to demand she return to him but knew doing so would guarantee she wouldn’t. He’d pushed her too far, too fast. He hadn’t been able to help it. His needs, both physical and practical, demanded payment. The glimpse into her soul had shown just how precarious her situation had grown in the years they’d been apart. She was a breath away from becoming Unseelie.
One act of violence, and she’d topple into the madness that would consume her.
He’d lose her. Worse than that, he’d have to condemn her to an eternity of punishment. Knowing what the Unseelie Court was capable of, she wouldn’t be able to walk freely among the humans. He didn’t want that. He wanted to love her, save her and protect her, exactly as he’d promised.
He wanted her as his mate—the keeper of his body and soul.
Was he crazy for the compulsion demanding he complete the ultimate union?
His brother Rhys, the only one of his siblings who knew about her, had thought so nine years ago. Would he today, knowing how Harley had fought to maintain her goodness? The need to find out gripped Calan. His siblings’ opinions meant the world to him, but Rhys’s thoughts mattered most. Not only was he second in command of the Hunt, he was also Calan’s twin.
Calan conjured Rhys’s face. His dark brown hair and silver eyes made him both striking and frightening. Calan recalled the battles they’d won, the nights of drunken revelry and the affection he’d always felt but rarely showed. The pull to his brother flared, and Rhys’s personal hell became Calan’s too.
Thick smoke filled his lungs, burned his eyes and wrapped around him in a suffocating blanket he couldn’t escape. Calan released his breath in a slow hiss and embraced the pain. It didn’t ease the suffering Rhys experienced, but the compulsion to protect him couldn’t be denied.
Hot air washed over Calan, bubbling his skin and searing his throat. He locked his muscles and waited for the first flick of the never-ending fire. A crackle and whoosh heralded the arrival of hungry flames. The living inferno crawled up his legs, down his arms and wound around him until every inch of his body ignited. He fought the urge to cry out, even though he knew it was the only way to make the blaze retreat.
The flames ate away at his skin, his manhood, his sanity. A scream built in his chest. He clamped his jaw. Too much, too much. He thrashed against his bonds, twisting and turning to escape. There was none. The pressure in his lungs intensified. His lips parted against his will. Laughter echoed around him, and the fire raced into his mouth.
He burst into flames.
The scent of his burning flesh surrounded him along with his continuous roar. On and on the torment continued until his heart took its final beat. The flames retreated, their task complete for the time being. The sacrifice had been made, and his suffering fueled the magic.
The barrier separating the human realm from Hell would hold for yet another hour.
Minutes passed. He wondered if death had finally found him, but the consequence of being a child of Arawn, Lord of the Underworld, reared its head. Flesh regrew. Bones reformed. The clothing he’d worn the day he’d been imprisoned wove itself over his body.
He dragged in a shuddering breath.
“Why do you insist on sharing our suffering when you do not need to?”
Rhys asked the same question every time they spoke. Calan gave his usual answer. “Because it is my punishment, my hell and my sin for condemning you. I would bear it all if I could.” Instead, he was damned with the knowledge that he was responsible for his siblings’ agony. He’d led them into a trap, then left them to suffer their fate alone. His gaze drifted to the dagger on display. He was also the only one who could end it.
Rhys sighed. “You did not know what would happen any more than I did. I would have done the same.”
True. Rhys probably would have. Actually, any of the Huntsmen would’ve made the same choice. The knowledge didn’t alleviate Calan’s guilt. While he’d tried to save a damned human and her child, his beloved siblings were inflicted with the same punishment their father, Arawn, had delivered to the Unseelie Court. The act of deceit that resulted in the Huntsmen being imprisoned forced them to pay the curse’s price…
Willingly. They had to voluntarily suffer and die.
That was the aspect that angered Calan the most. If his brothers and sisters chose not to offer their pain, the barrier blocking the horrors of Hell from flooding the mortal realm would fall, and the Huntsmen would fail in their duty. Protecting the humans was their sole purpose. Nothing was more important.
“Not even the fairy you wish to mate.”
Rhys’s response proved how intimately they were connected. Calan could’ve blocked Rhys from sharing in his inner thoughts, but he rarely did. They’d always been close.
“Half-fairy.” The defensive tone in Calan’s voice wasn’t one he could stop. “Harley is half-human, do not forget. Half the species we have sworn to protect.”
“Is she?” Rhys paused, letting the moment fill with his doubt. “Then tell me how she was able to escape the notice of the fairies’ creatures for all those years before you connected with her.”
Calan didn’t have an answer. He’d wondered the same thing. He shrugged. “Her mother must’ve known her rapist wasn’t human. It wouldn’t surprise me if Dar told her or showed her his true form.”
Rhys snorted. “More likely Dar had lied and told her of who he once was, not the abhorrence he became.” A bitter laugh escaped Rhys. “Maybe Dar even lied and said their child would be a princess, or he could’ve tricked Harley’s mother into thinking she was sleeping with a god. It is what he wants to be.”
The Huntsmen were born a century after Dar had corrupted his Court, turning them into monsters exactly as he’d become. Calan had heard stories of why Dar had taken the path he had. Every one suggested a woman was the cause of the Seelie king’s downfall. Calan had never been able to find out more. Whenever he’d asked his father, Arawn had walked away without answering. Calan only knew that after Dar became infected, he’d promised that the humans would call him their dark lord.
Calan pushed away the thoughts before his anger consumed him and focused on Rhys’s suggestion. “No. Harley said her mother was raped. She knew.”
Rhys made a noncommittal sound.
“Harley admitted to enduring for all the years we’ve been separated because of the promise she’d made to me.”
“Which promise did she deem worthy of keeping? As I recall, she made more than one.”
Calan accepted the jab. He too felt the sting of Harley’s broken vow where she’d promised to come to him. No longer did he want to dwell on it, not when she’d finally returned.
Calan raised his chin. “She survived by using the knowledge I shared with her, and she held on to her honor because she promised to retain her goodness until I could finish saving her.”
“Is she still worthy of the sacrifice you seem so eager to make?”
Calan raised his inner guards, blocking Rhys from the knowledge of how close she was to becoming Unseelie.
Rhys’s laughter echoed around them. “The fact that you hav
e to hide your own doubts from me proves the truth.”
“It proves I am protective of my future mate.”
Rhys’s amusement died abruptly. He turned his silver eyes, similar to their father’s, onto Calan. “Do not forget the oath you made to the Triad. Break it, and you damn the world.”
The mention of the triple-faceted deity who ruled over all sent a chill down Calan’s spine. The Huntsmen had stood in the being’s presence once—the day they’d embarked on their final battle. Never did Calan want to see the deity again. He’d felt stripped raw from its all-seeing touch. He hadn’t been able to shake the feeling his fate had been sealed in that moment. Not knowing its appraisal of his worth bothered Calan the most.
He met Rhys’s piercing stare. “I have not, nor will I ever forget the reason I was created or my vow to the Triad that I would protect the humans at all costs.”
“Good.” Rhys dipped his head. “Then trick Harley into releasing you and walk away. You would serve the humans better as a Hunter, not as a demigod mated to a tainted fairy.”
“No. That isn’t an option.” Calan’s voice took on a low growl. “I will mate Harley. I will save her and the world.”
Silence stretched. Finally Rhys sighed. “I hope that is a vow you can keep, my brother.”
With those words, Rhys cut the connection between them. Calan opened his eyes and glanced at the dagger that had taunted him for a thousand years.
“I will, Rhys.” Calan straightened his spine. “I vowed to avenge the wronged, and Harley was damned before she even took her first breath. If anyone deserves to be saved, she does.”
He only hoped he could keep his promise without breaking any other one.
Chapter Seven
Harley sat on a thick quilt in the middle of her living room floor. Sunlight peeked around the edges of the heavy drapes. It didn’t bother her. She’d trained her body to sleep in full sunlight without fear of being woken by the glare. Sometimes she did so just to add a little color to her pale skin. With her platinum hair, she often looked washed out. Today, she didn’t want to leave the shades open and risk a redcap seeing the mark on her palm. Unlikely, but Calan’s warning forced her to take extra precautions.
The triple locks on all the doors were secured. The windows were bolted, and she had her dagger and a gun within reach. The small revolver wouldn’t kill a redcap or a sluagh, but it’d slow them down. She’d learned to embrace everything that gave her an advantage.
Assured she was as safe as she’d get, she cradled her hand and stared at the swooping X, though the description didn’t quite fit the symbol. The lines didn’t bisect at the middle. The curved edges overlapped so a small circle formed at the center. She traced them as she’d done countless times since she’d left Calan’s prison. No tingles accompanied the exploration nor did she feel the flare of the taint she carried.
Eyes closed, she reached inside herself—something she’d learned normal people couldn’t do after a few awkward moments with her family—and examined the evidence of Calan’s touch. A silky, shimmering second skin wrapped around her heart and spread out to coat every organ and vein.
She examined it from all angles, then used a metaphysical hand to stroke it. Warm and alive, the glaze pulsed with life. The scent of a smoky campfire wafted around her with the simple stroke. Calan. She could taste him on her lips too. She pulled back, more confused than ever. The intimate connection to him shouldn’t be possible.
“What did he do to me?”
“Let me shield you from the taint your father left on you.” His words echoed in her head.
Realization struck. She gasped.
He’d imprinted himself on her, for lack of a better term. That was why she could feel him even with the distance separating them.
“He saved me.”
Or started the process, according to him, and awaited her return to finish it. By making love to me? She shook her head at the wanton thought but very much hoped it was the truth. The romantic aspect of it brought a breathy sigh to her lips.
She tugged off her clothes and tossed them on the couch. The cool air in her house did nothing to alleviate the flush sensitizing her skin. The desire she’d experienced in Calan’s arms hadn’t eased in the hours since she’d left him. If anything, it had gotten worse. Her aroused body begged for release.
The fantasies she’d indulged in for years all centered on her ghost man. Seeing him, touching him and finding pleasure at his hands had proved her dreams paled in comparison to the real thing. Knowing firsthand what it felt like to embrace her carnal urges, she craved more.
She curled her hands and fought the desire to give herself a little relief from the needs swamping her. It wasn’t right. While she sat in her living room, naked and aroused, he hung from chains, alone.
She’d caught glimpses of torture from his mind when he’d invaded hers. Images of burning alive, drowning and being repeatedly stabbed had flashed across her eyes. He’d yanked the pictures away as if he hadn’t meant for her to see them, but she suspected it was part of his suffering, what he’d alluded to the Huntsmen enduring for centuries. Real or illusionary? She couldn’t be sure, but his anxiety of the scenes had resonated through her.
She wanted to run back to his side and release him, exactly as he’d ordered her. She resisted. Caution. The word had saved her too many times for her to ignore her golden rule because she lusted for a man who might condemn her to the same torment he suffered.
If what she suspected held true, though, he wouldn’t be able to harm her without hurting himself too. She carried a piece of him much the same way she did the infectious taint from her father.
One day. She’d take the reprieve Calan gave her, fulfill her obligation to Ian tonight and return to Calan. She’d survived almost a decade on her own. One more day wouldn’t matter. When she did get him alone… She shuddered at the rush of desire tightening her nipples and skipping tingles along the walls of her sex.
She wanted him inside her. The orgasm he’d ripped from her had stoked her desire. The experience, though mind-blowing, had only set her needs to simmer. She wanted more, everything he could give her. She craved the thick length of his cock pounding into her. She yearned to feel his lips on hers. And she hungered for his passion. She wanted to swallow his release and know she’d been the one who’d sent him over the edge.
Unable to resist any longer, she skimmed her fingers down the center of her body, starting at her upper chest, between her breasts to her bellybutton. The slow stroke quickened her breath. Nearly every night, she’d brought herself to orgasm by fantasizing about her ghost man.
Calan, she reminded herself, not merely her ghost man.
He was real. Alive.
Hers.
She shook her head at the last thought, unsure where the certainty came from, but positive it was true. Calan was hers…if she returned to him and finished their bond.
She pushed away the thought before she rushed back to his side. The truth was he’d claimed her years before with only a look. Every night, she imagined how his kiss would feel and how his voice in her ear would sound as he made love to her. Nothing had prepared her for the man she’d encountered when she’d walked into his cell.
He oozed sexuality. Everything about him appealed to her—his hard body, the harshness of his features and the gravelly growl punctuating his words. His scent, however, sent her up in flames. She’d always loved the smell of a campfire. Calan captured the soothing and tantalizing fragrance and infused it with life.
She conjured his image, and a wash of arousal coated the lips of her sex. The thump to her clit demanded his touch, and the quivering of her sex begged to orgasm around his hard length. She slid her fingers to the smooth skin of her cleft. A moan escaped her. The amount of wetness awaiting her shocked her. It shouldn’t have. She’d been aroused all night.
Another slow t
race of her folds, and a whimper fell from her mouth. She squirmed and fought the urge to thrust her fingers into her opening. With the way she responded whenever Calan had starred in her fantasies, she knew it wouldn’t take long to careen into ecstasy. She didn’t want to rush into the one-sided bliss. After learning what her phantom lover looked like, she wanted to pretend he was here, touching her.
For her entire adult life, she’d been half in love with him. Or at least in lust with him. Either way, no other man had been able to compete with the release she found by picturing Calan’s eyes and touching herself. Sad in a way, but true nonetheless. Calan owned her. He had for nine years.
She pictured his eyes first, the thick swoop of his lashes against the tanned skin of his face. His stark cheekbones, long, straight nose and strong chin added to the image she’d always imagined. Full lips softened his face. When he’d parted them and invited her kiss, he’d looked like an incubus, one who’d take her to the highest levels of passion possible.
With two straightened fingers, she breached her opening. Slowly, oh so very slowly, she pushed them in until her palm met her wet lower lips. A twist of her wrist and a curl of her fingers, and she tortured herself. In and out, she moved them in controlled strokes. At the end of each thrust, she swiped her fingertips back and forth over the hidden section that sent whipping pulses through her. A shuddered groan escaped. Mini waves danced through her.
She had to push deep to reach her G-spot. Calan wouldn’t have a problem. His long, slender and slightly roughened fingers guaranteed he’d take her over the edge with a few swipes. One kiss, and he’d stimulated her in inconceivable ways. She’d never experienced an orgasm like the one he’d pulled from her. When he got her naked, she’d combust.
She added her thumb to the mix, rubbing her clit and flicking the button until it hardened. Each brush against it skipped awareness through her. Another thrust, and her sex tightened around her fingers. Ripples massaged the two digits she moved in and out. They didn’t come close to filling her the way Calan’s cock would. She’d felt the straight, thick length when she’d ground against him. He’d be a tight fit, maybe even too much for her, but it’d be heavenly trying to take him all, every way she could.
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